


Mending Iron

by MassiveSpaceWren, monicawoe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/pseuds/MassiveSpaceWren, https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: Bucky is on a mission for the SSR, tracking the hulking Beast that roams the mountains, when he encounters an iron man.Tony was kidnapped as a child and has been raised by Isodyne. He’s spent as long as he can remember building machines for them so they can keep the peace. But his new friend, Bruce, is convinced that all isn’t as it appears.Steampunk AU - words bymonicawoeart bymassivespacewren





	Mending Iron

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018!  
> Big thanks to my beta [ speranza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/speranza)!

The gibbous moon sat shrouded behind a thick layer of clouds, giving the sky a soft hazy glow. Bucky stayed in the shadows and became one with them, the black of his uniform blending with the dark. He could hear the Beast's heavy steps in the distance, the creaking sound of a tree being uprooted and knocked aside—another casual display of strength from the green monstrosity he sought. But beyond that, the Beast was unusually quiet tonight. Bucky had been stealthily tracking its lumbering shape for hours now, keeping out of sight though that also meant he hadn’t gotten close enough to see it clearly. But it hadn't made a single of its tell-tale bellows, or even so much as a grunt. Perhaps it had already ravaged another town before tromping into Umberberg.  Or perhaps it was wounded.

The S.S.R. had been pursuing the Beast for nearly a year now. Every previous attempt to capture it had failed miserably. Bucky, Sam, Natasha and Rhodey had tried less than a month ago, which had resulted in all of them being injured. Bucky's motorized arm had been completely destroyed, crushed by the Beast. Luckily, Howard's team had been working on upgraded models. The new arm was lighter and the pistons were whisper-quiet. He needed that utter silence now; the Beast's hearing was easily as good as his own, if not better.

Bucky rounded the corner, carefully peering down the main street of the small village. A single oil lamp was still lit, and as the Beast came down the street, the lamp glinted off its hide. Odd. He'd never seen its skin do that before.

As the Beast came closer, Bucky pulled back around the corner, hiding from view and prepared for battle. The S.S.R had given him a new weapon to test tonight: a sonic-blaster tranq-gun. They'd tried to sedate the Beast before, but its rage seemed to burn right through any drug, no matter how heavy the dose. This particular frequency blast, Howard had assured Bucky, should disrupt the Beast's amygdala—whatever that meant—stun and disorient it so the tranquilizer could take effect. After Bucky hit his mark, the others would come out of their holding positions and together they’d bring the Beast down. Or that was the plan, anyway.

Bucky trusted Howard's tech, but they'd been zero for four with the Beast so far. With one more slow exhale, Bucky drew his new weapon and turned the corner, firing the sonic-blaster. The blast struck the Beast with a loud _blam_ and the tranq dart followed, pinging ineffectively against...metal?

What Hell is this? Bucky thought, heart racing as his mind scrambled to put these new puzzle pieces together. The thing at the end of the street plowed towards him. It—it wasn't the Beast—this new monstrosity, though just as large, was made entirely of metal; each of its shockingly fast steps clanging heavily against the road. Bucky fired again, but the metal behemoth didn't slow down. Not even a little. In desperation, Bucky drew his secondary pistol and fired bullets, which ricocheted off, one nearly grazing his leg.

The iron automaton stopped and turned its head, expressionless glowing eyes focusing on Bucky. In the center of its chest, a large glowing oval grew brighter—its light bleeding from yellow to red. Bucky snapped out of his momentary stupor and dodged out of the way, dropping into a roll just as the blast of light exploded out of that oval and struck the house behind him.

The beam of energy left a charred, smoking ring of fire behind, and when the smoke cleared, Bucky could see clear through it, right into the house. He studied it long enough to determine that there was nobody inside, at least nowhere the blast had struck.

Bucky’s moment of relief was short-lived. The automaton was moving again, right towards him. With no other option, Bucky raised his fists. His mechanical arm was a weapon in its own right, so effective against people that he always held back unless he meant to deliver a killing blow. But this wasn’t a person. Bucky pulled back his fist and struck at the center of the oval—its weapon, or maybe even its power source. His fist struck with a clang and the oval cracked, but the automaton itself didn’t budge. It lifted its massive arm and swatted Bucky aside like a fly.

He hurtled through the air, hit the ground again a dozen yards away with an undignified oof. His hands had taken the brunt of the impact, luckily, and beyond the cuts in his knees and the humiliation of defeat, he was otherwise unharmed. He considered running back into the fray, but to what end? He was hopelessly outmatched. He peered over his shoulder, looking for a signal from the others. Natasha was the closest, and she’d have seen things go south.

  
  


“Tough break, Barnes,” Natasha said, perched on a rooftop to Bucky’s left he’d’ve sworn was empty a second ago. “I told Peggy sending just you as an advanced scout was a bad idea. No offense.”

“Some taken.” Bucky frowned at her. “We have to follow it.”

“The Fly Guys are on it.” Natasha tilted her chin up. Bucky followed her gaze and saw the distinct feathered ridges of Sam’s wings as he flew overhead, trailed by Rhodey, who accelerated with a push of his gyromotor-pedals, wings slicing whisper-quiet through the air as he ascended and took off to the East.

Sam signaled with his beacon as he passed, a sequence of long and short blips of  light, detailing his destination. Natasha signaled back in recognition, adding, “Come on, we should tell Carter what we saw sooner rather than later.”

#

“How could we have been so wrong?” Peggy asked, folding her arms  across her chest. “Sky Patrol saw the Beast near Umberberg.”

“Maybe the iron man scared him off. We’ve seen the Beast run off before.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen him run off,” Natasha interjected, “...but not run from something.”

“So this iron man you saw, it’s an automaton?” Peggy asked, studying Bucky’s write-up.

“No. I thought so at first, but—the way it responded to me—it thinks. It’s alive. Or...someone is controlling it.”

“I wager you’re right. We just need to find out who.” Peggy slipped the write-up into the auto-telegraph.

“Why do you bother?” Natasha asked, watching the machine transcribe and transmit the text. “Does Howard even read the write-ups anymore?”

Peggy smiled, sadly. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But I’ll keep sending them until he tells me not to.”

Natasha’s voice softened. “He’s stopped looking, hasn’t he? It’s been twenty years.”

“I don’t think he’ll ever stop looking.”

Howard hadn’t been the same since his young son, Tony had been taken. Kidnapped, at his fourth birthday party. Howard expected a ransom, a threat if he didn’t pay up whatever portion of his amassed wealth they demanded—and he was prepared to do anything. But there had been no demands. The kidnappers left behind only a note: A piece of paper Howard had carried in his pocket every day since. The note bore three hand-written words: “We have him.”

Bucky, thanks to his own unique situation, had known both Peggy and Howard for nearly five decades, though he himself had just reached thirty. Back before Bucky’s capture and subsequent cryonic sleep, Howard had been a brilliant, brash young entrepreneur, but now he was little more than a sad shell of his former self. Peggy had borne a great deal of sorrow too, in her years, but she’d never lost hope, and she ran the S.S.R. with both empathy and efficiency. If it weren’t for the both of them, Bucky would never have woken up again. And part of him hadn’t wanted to. Another thing the three of them shared was the pain of loss.

“That iron man almost led us right to his base,” Sam said, pulling off his flight goggles as he entered the room.

Rhodey removed his wings — a weightier metal, but more dynamic than Sam’s — and set them on their holder. “Almost being the operative word. We lost him near the foot of the Zwilling Mountains.”

“What do you mean you lost him?” Peggy asked, hands on hips.

“Some kind of forcefield— sonic I think. Wreaked havoc on my gyros.”

“Based on what we saw, the barrier bends sound and light. Couldn’t see a damn thing behind it,” Sam added, frustrated.

“And their base is somewhere in or near the mountains. That’s more than we knew a few weeks ago.” Natasha tossed Sam and Rhodey a smile.

“One thing I still don’t get,” Bucky said. “We went to Umberberg tonight expecting the Beast, and instead we got something totally new. What’s the connection?”

“Sound barriers, metal suits that fire energy blasts—this all smells like Isodyne to me,” Sam said. “Who else would have that kind of tech?”

“Sam’s right, it’s Isodyne.” Bucky nodded to himself. “They probably used that thing to capture the Beast. Beat us to the punch.”

“Looks like I’ve taught you lot a thing or two after all,” Peggy said, pleased. “Get some dinner and some sleep. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

#

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” Tony said, by way of greeting. He leaned against the cell, curling his fingers around the bars.

Bruce didn’t even acknowledge his presence, just kept staring at the same spot on the wall, like if he kept at it long enough he could burn a hole through it. For all Tony knew, maybe Bruce would be able to do that one day. The doctors had been giving him new treatments, trying to help him control his inner beast. Maybe they could help him shift how his rage manifested, give him some modicum of control.

"If you'd just let them help you, stop trying to escape—" Tony suggested.

"Trying to escape!" Bruce scoffed, and turned to glare at Tony, brown eyes glinting with an unnatural green. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

Tony swallowed, took an involuntary step back from the cell. "Bruce, I know you don't always remember, but—"

“I’m not trying to escape. I’m too dangerous to be out there, that’s why I let them bring me in.”

“Let them?” Tony asked incredulously.

“But these people —these doctors—they’re not trying to cure me.”

“Of course they are.”

“No. They’re making it worse!” Bruce’s voice dropped dangerously low on the last word, the floor vibrating with the pitch of it. He clenched his eyes shut, breathing through his nose. The veins on his neck were engorged, dark green visible through his skin. But they receded again as he took another deep breath, and another. When he looked up again, his eyes were brown. “They send me out there like an attack dog, to flatten whatever they need flattened.”

“That’s—you’re being paranoid, Bruce. They’ve brought you back in every time you’ve gotten out of control, that’s all. To protect people.”

Bruce snorted a bitter, sad little laugh. “You still don’t get it, do you? Director Jones isn't doing any of this to protect people. We’re not his wards. We’re his _weapons_ .”

“Come on, Bruce, you know that’s not true.” Tony shook his head, sadly. Bruce was sick, and he’d gotten marginally better since they’d brought him in for treatment, a year ago, but he still suffered from delusions, and this one—that Isodyne’s doctors were corrupt and using his condition to further their own agenda—was tragically misplaced. “My father's not evil. And neither is Isodyne. The doctors here practically raised me—I've got full run of the place. I have my own lab—”

“And what do you build for them in your lab?”

The question caught Tony off guard. “You know what I build: energy cores, better power sources.”

“For what purpose?”

“What purpose? So we can light the streets at night with something better than oil. So we can give people heat without coal.”

“That’s why you built your suit? To replace coal.”

“You know why I built that. Because I had to—“

“You had to be able to bring me in when I got loose, right? Like you did tonight?”

“I tried. You didn’t exactly make it easy.”

“They didn’t want you to build the suit just to reel me back in, they can do that all by themselves.”

“What?”

“I told you, they’ve been putting things in my head. They push a button, I turn, they push another, I turn back.” Bruce made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Like a damned machine.”   

“If that’s true, then—“

“It is true, you just don’t want to hear it.” Bruce carded his fingers through his hair. “Don’t believe me? Go look in Scott's lab.”

Tony stood there, dumbstruck for a beat. “Fine, I will.”

“Good, and while you’re at it, why don’t you see what they’ve been doing with your suit prototypes.”

 

##

 

“What did it look like?”

Bucky bolted awake, grabbing for the stun weapon under his pillow instinctively. He had it aimed at the door before his eyes had even had a chance to process who was standing in the door frame. The automated lights were coming on, reacting to the movement in the room.

Howard Stark looked even more haggard than the last time Bucky had seen him—face more gaunt, hair more grey and less black. But his eyes were gleaming—more than a hint of that spark he’d had during the war, back when Bucky had first met him. Before the fall, before they’d lost Steve….

Bucky swallowed down the sorrow of the past and said, “Sorry, sir, you startled me. What did what look like?”

“The reactor. The energy source you saw on the suit.”

“The suit?”

Howard let out an annoyed huff and crossed the room, waving a sheet of paper in front of Bucky’s face. “Did it look like this?”

Bucky studied the sheet in Howard’s hand. It was a crude sketch—by Howard’s standards—which meant it was a somewhat rushed but still heavily detailed technical diagram with neatly printed decasyllabic words Bucky could barely decipher. The diagram showed an oval—a blast emitter, one that indeed looked damn familiar. “Yeah,” Bucky admitted. “It looked a lot like this.”

“Tony, from the minute he could crawl, he’d follow me to the lab. Couldn’t let him in most of the time of course, but I did when it was safe. We used to—used to talk about building something together when he was older. Building this!” Howard flipped the diagram around and handed it to him. On the other side was a much cruder crayon drawing. A robot with a big bright ring on its chest. Arguably—with a big stretch of the imagination— a prototype for the technical sketch itself.

Howard snatched the paper back. “We have to find it again.”

“It—" nearly killed me, Bucky cut himself off, started again. “It’s stolen tech?”

“No. I mean yes—it’s—this is mine.”  Howard jabbed his finger at the paper, and Bucky was struck again by how alive Howard seemed. The loss of Tony had gutted him, and after Maria left, he’d gotten that much worse, subsumed no longer by determination, but resignation. “It’s my idea, but I never built it! I never even, until just now, I never even drew it. But I’ve thought of it, I’ve been carrying it around. Here,” he said, and tapped at the side of his skull. “Don’t you get it? We have to find it!”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Peggy knocked on the door-frame, night-robe tied around her waist. Her room was only two doors down from Bucky's. “Howard?”

“Peg—Peg!” Howard grabbed her by the shoulders, grinning. “That suit Barnes saw earlier tonight—it’s like I built it. It’s authentic Stark Tech, I’d bet my life on it.”

“Oh, Howard. You can’t think….” Peggy’s wary smile turned sorrowful. She took his hand in hers. “Come on, let's have a nightcap. We can talk this through together. Leave Sergeant Barnes to get his rest.”

“Capital idea,” Howard said, smiling. “We’ve got work to do.”

Bucky watched them leave, throwing Peggy what he hoped was a reassuring nod when she gave him one last woeful look. He tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t, the meaning behind Howard’s words spooling through his mind. Tony. Howard thought Tony had built the—he’d called it a suit, though Bucky had assumed it was an automaton. Some tiny grain of possibility and suddenly the man had all of his fire back. But sometimes the lost stay lost. Bucky had learned that lesson himself the hard way. Out of habit, he reached into his nightstand drawer, grabbed the flat aluminum tag inside and cupped it in his palm, until the metal began to heat. As the lights dimmed again, Bucky ran his thumb over the raised letters, pushing Steve’s name into his skin until he could picture his smile.

#

This can’t be right, Tony thought, as he paged through Doctor Scott’s third journal—the one he’d found inside her safe. Her notes were meticulous and horrifying. Page after page on Bruce’s condition and how it was improving.

Except her definitions of improvement had to do entirely with Bruce’s potential transformed strength—nearly all of the statistics she’d been tracking had to do with damage output: a log of how long it took him to break through holding, how quickly he finished off his targets, how much collateral damage, how much time elapsed between them ‘pulling the trigger’ and him changing. They were calibrating him, like an engine of destruction.

Bruce had been right. And if he’d been right about this, then—

“Tony? What are you doing here?”

Tony whipped around, tucking the journal under his lab-coat. “Hey, Jacob, I was looking for Dr. Scott. Seen her around?”

“She’s at the loading dock, signing off on incoming supplies.”

“Well, when you see her,” Tony said, forcing out as genuine a smile as he could muster, “tell her I want a word. I’ve got some...new information on Bruce that might help her research.”

“What new information?” Jacob asked, return the smile.

“It’s kinda...not really your business. I’ll tell Dr. Scott myself.”

“I’m her assistant.” Jacob dropped his polite veneer, leaving his smile just a baring of teeth. “And anything concerning Banner’s condition is my business.”

Tony had pretty good instincts, but even without them it was glaringly obvious that Jacob was gearing up for a fight. Not letting on that he knew, Tony kept his expression calm and strolled towards the door. “Nah. I’ll wait for her to get back. Just let her know I’ll be in lab six, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll do that.” Jacob’s knuckles cracked audibly as he balled his hands into fists.

The door button clicked beneath Tony’s feet and the door slid open with a hiss of pressurized air. As Tony headed casually down the hall, just before the door slid shut behind him, he heard Jacob curse under his breath.

Tony hurried the rest of the way to lab four, and slipped inside, heading right for where he’d stashed his best ideas. The ones nobody knew about. Not Dr. Scott, not even his father.

#

“Isodyne has guards stationed here, here and here,” Rhodey said, pointing at three spots on the map spread out before them. “There’s no clean way in from the ground. We’ll need to do an airdrop.”

Peggy let out a thoughtful breath. “Natasha, you’re with Rhodes. Barnes, you’re with Sam.”

“This kind of empty sky, they’ll see us coming a mile away,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We need a big diversion, or we wait until another night.”

Bucky chewed his lip thoughtfully. “We can use scatter-smoke.”

“Night like this? That’ll tip them off even faster,” Rhodes sighed. “Sam is right, we wait.”

“No waiting,” Howard said,  entering the room. “We need clouds, we make clouds.”

“Howard?” Peggy asked, more curiosity than doubt tinting her voice.

“We’re taking the Nautilus.”

Bucky’s brows crept straight up. “The Nautilus you flew thirty years ago?”

Howard frowned at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I just—that ship was top of the line in her day, but—“

“But nothing. She’s the best shot we’ve got. And she’s still years ahead of her time.” Howard's smile faded. "Only somebody else'll have to fly her."

Bucky could barely hide his shock. He'd been certain Howard would insist on joining them.

"I'll fly," Peggy said. "Better if you're here to operate the beam. We're bound to need it."

"The beam's operated from here?" Bucky asked, curious. He'd seen the ship's weapon in action before. It was immensely powerful, and something they'd surely need, infiltrating an Isodyne base.

"It requires two operators," Howard said, "one onboard—" he pointed at Peggy, "—and one here. I built it that way so the weapon couldn't be used if the Nautilus ever fell into the wrong hands."

"Smart," Rhodes said.

"Aren't I always?" Howard smirked and turned away, but Bucky caught a flash of shame in his expression. And Peggy's knowing look confirmed his suspicion. They'd learned the hard way that Stark's designs could and would get stolen, no matter how careful they were. And if Howard was right about Tony's whereabouts, then a whole new generation of Stark tech was already in enemy hands.

#

Tony’s pride and joy—his very best invention—worked far better than he’d expected. The flying-suit fit like a metal glove, and it accelerated so rapidly that he passed exhilaration and tipped right back into terror again. Of course, the certainty that all of Isodyne’s ample and ruthlessly automated security force—half of which he’d designed himself—was pursuing him made the terror appropriate. Cutting a corner way too close, Tony careened down the halls, shaving off splinters of wood and paint as he grazed the walls.

“Bruce!” Tony shouted, steadying himself, best he could as he decelerated. His voice sounded muffled inside the helmet, but the voice amplifier worked. He heard Bruce call out his name as he hurtled towards his cell. “Bruce you were right!” Tony said, activating the brake-magnets and skidding to a halt. But the magnets were stronger than he expected, and he lost his footing and slammed hard against the far wall with his shoulder.

The impact stunned him enough to blind him for a few seconds. Seconds he didn’t have to spare. “Bruce!” he cried out. “Can you hear me?”

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice sounded strained. “Tony—you have to get out of here, I’m—“ his words cut off as he let out a pitiful cry—pure agony, the kind Tony had heard before when he was about to—

“Damn,” Tony cursed under his breath as he rounded the corner. Like this wasn’t hard enough. A loud bang reverberated off the walls as Bruce punched the floor of his cell over and over, his fists swelling and growing greener with every strike. “Well, hopefully you can still understand me, because I’m pretty sure this is my last chance.”  Tony cleared his throat. “Bruce you were right, about everything.”

Bruce turned to him, painfully slow, panting out a breath between clenched teeth. “You—never—“ Bruce slammed his fist into the floor again, leaving a sizable dent in the stone floor. “—listen.”

Tony ignored his instinct to back away. “You’re right, I don’t. And I’m sorry about that, but right now, we need to get out of here.”

The flimsy shirt Bruce had been outfitted with stretched to its limit as his torso distended, back swelling wider until the fabric started to tear under the strain. “Run,” Bruce growled.

“Yes, exactly. We need to run.”

The Beast turned to Tony and bellowed. “YOU. RUN.”

And that time, Tony listened.

#

Tony flew out of the exhaust tunnel, thankful for the cold night air. The inside of his suit was getting unbearably hot, and he made a mental note to tweak the cooling system—some time when he wasn’t actively trying to avoid death. Scanning his surroundings, he adjusted his course and started heading south, towards the rest of the mountains. It’d be difficult terrain for him to navigate, but nearly impossible for anyone on foot, even Bruce. And most importantly, the mountains to the South were entirely unpopulated.

A massive crash came from behind him, followed by a roar—Bruce. Even in his hulking form, Tony only thought of him as Bruce—considered him a friend, even if Bruce didn’t feel the same way. Of course right now, his friend was trying to kill him. But that wasn’t his fault. Isodyne hadn’t just figured out how to control when Bruce changed, they were also controlling who he attacked. Tony was certain of it. The question was how.

Another, closer bellow from Bruce yanked Tony’s mind back to the present, just in time to dodge a swipe from Bruce’s massive green hand— dangerously close. He’d jumped a good eighty feet in the air!

Working the small levers inside his gloves, Tony pushed the suit higher, wishing he’d had more time to calibrate the altitude capabilities of this particular experiment.

#

“Target acquired,” Bucky said, retracting his scope. “And he’s on the move. Fast.”

“Not as fast as us,” Sam said, strapping on his wings.

“You sure about that?” Rhodey secured his flight goggles, cranked down the Nautilus’s jump-ledge and stepped up. “I’m clocking him at 400 knots. That’s —” his voice cut off as something huge and green exploded out of the rock. “Whoa! I was not expecting that.”

“The Beast,” Natasha said, eyebrows shooting up. “Looks like it’s our lucky day.”

Sam frowned, taking position next to Rhodey. “He’s chasing the iron man. You see that, right?”

“Interesting, I’d assumed they were allies,” Peggy said, peering through the ship’s telescopic lens. “Appears I was mistaken.”

#

Tony was flying well beyond his safe speed and elevation range, the world whipping by him in a blur as the suit vibrated, bolts quivering, hanging on—barely. But Bruce was still gaining on him. And Tony was terrified.

He waited for the next loud, beastly growl, then swerved, doubling back on Bruce, which was remarkably effective. As Tony dove down, the Hulk, already mid jump overshot him by nearly a fifty feet, roaring in even greater fury as he tried to defy gravity and turn, mid-air, instead tumbling roughly to the ground in the valley below. He was back on his feet in seconds, barreling full speed at Tony, who took a big swallow, raised his faceplate and stood his ground.

#

“What’s he doing?” Bucky wondered out loud. He slipped his goggles on, tightening them.

“Lost his mind,” Rhodey said, as he fastened Natasha's harness onto his.

“Maybe. Or he’s tired of running, or he’s out of fuel.” Sam shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Well, he’s about to be dead. We’ve gotta save him,” Bucky said, strapping himself onto Sam.

“Deploy when ready," Peggy said. "I’ll monitor. Send a flare for immediate extraction.”

“Or two for immediate distraction!” Howard's voice came over the intercom. “I’ll start charging up the disruptor cannon remotely. Peggy, engage the onboard charge!”

“Good luck to all of you,” Peggy said, as she turned towards the dizzying array of levers and switches to her right and got to work.

Bucky took in a deep breath as Rhodey and Sam’s wings slid open and all four of them dove down into the air.

#

The Hulk's skin was coated with dust, making him more look more grey than green. His big eyes were focused on Tony's face. He'd stopped running for the moment, but if his balled fists were any indication, he hadn't calmed down in the slightest.

"Bruce," Tony said, holding his hand out, palms up. "I get it now, I do. And I'm so sorry."

The Hulk snarled at him, but stood his ground.

"We have to get away from here. Both of us, and—"

With a louder snarl, the Hulk clenched his eyes shut, muscles clenched and shaking. When he opened his eyes again, the rage was unbridled, so much so that Tony stumbled back. Hulk lunged forward and then...stopped, striking himself on the side of his head with one big palm.

"Bruce?"

The Hulk repeated the motion, slamming the heel of his hand against that same spot.

"Is that—that's where it is, right?" Tony watched his transformed friend's pained expression. "There's something in your head—something they put in there?"

Squinting at Tony, like just prying his eyes open hurt, the Hulk grunted in agreement.

"Okay—we'll take care of it, but for now, we have to—"

The Hulk doubled over, clutching his head and howling in pain. When his eyes opened again, there was no mistaking the deadliness in his green gaze. Tony took another step back as the Hulk lowered his head, ready to charge.

#

The sparse clouds dotting the sky zipped past in a millisecond, and the mountain-range rushed up to greet them. Sam turned into an arc with practiced grace, hugging the natural curve of the valley, the air buffeting them to greater speeds.

Flying was not Bucky’s favorite mode of transportation, but in tandem with Sam, he always felt safe. Well, safe as far as the flying was concerned, anyway. The safest flight in the world wouldn’t change the fact that they were currently spiraling—elegantly—toward near-certain doom.

Bucky pushed aside the nagging thought that he should’ve protested this plan and insisted the come up with a better strategy, but Howard’s son was at stake. He believed him now, wholeheartedly. The sketch had been one thing, but now, he was seeing it with his own eyes—even if the iron man wasn’t Howard’s son, he was definitely a man, and one clearly held against his will by Isodyne, as this frantic escape proved. He was trying to flee on his own now, and they’d sent the Beast to bring him back. Or stop him.  Bucky knew a thing or two about that: being held, captured, made into a machine.

But they weren’t going to let that happen to this guy, whether he was Howard’s son or not. Bucky softened his knees as Sam came in for a landing in a clearing, sparsely dotted with pines. He dug in his heels just enough to keep from toppling over when Sam detached the harness. They were only meters away from the iron man and the Beast; Sam fell into step beside him as they ran the rest of the way.

“Something else is coming out of the mountain," Rhodey called from above. “We’re going to scope it out and circle back.”

Natasha signaled “good luck,” as they passed overhead and reversed course smoothly enough to make even Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, duly impressed.

“We need to practice more,” Bucky said.

“Practice won’t change the weight of your arm.”

“Maybe it’ll change your attitude.”

Sam’s dry laugh cut off abruptly as they turned the bend into the valley. The Beast was snarling, hunched over, stance more animal than man, nostrils flaring, focused completely on the man across from him. The iron faceplate was up, and inside the suit was a man. Youngish, Bucky thought; in his twenties. The right age to be—

“Tony?” Bucky called out, hoping the distraction wouldn’t do more harm than good.

The iron man whipped his head around, eyes wide with confusion, and then focused on the Beast again, muttering, “Sorry, whoever you are, I’m a little busy at the moment.” He glanced up to the Nautilus. “Nice ship.”

“It’s your father’s,” Bucky said.

“Excuse me?” Tony looked even more confused. “I helped build most of my father’s ships. Isodyne doesn’t have anything like that. ”

“Your father doesn’t work for Isodyne. Your father is Howard Stark.”

“Come again?” Tony narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m Bucky, this is Sam.”

“And we’re here to help get you out of this mess,” Sam said, hand hovering over his sidearm. It was similar to the model Bucky carried, sleeker, for better aerodynamics.

“Got it under control, thanks,” Tony said, eyes straight ahead. “And hot tip: whatever you do, don’t draw your weapons, he really doesn’t like that.”

“And we care about what he likes?” Sam asked.

“You should if you don’t want to get your head ripped off. And besides,” Tony said, unexpectedly, “he’s my friend.”

The Beast snarled, turning his massive head, eyes flicking down to Sam’s sidearm and Bucky’s. It was then Bucky realized he’d drawn his weapon on reflex without even realizing it.

With a roar, the green behemoth charged, moving far faster than he had any right to. Sam snapped his wings open and leapt up, flying just out of reach. Bucky rolled, barely dodging the Beast’s path. He landed by Tony’s side, leaping to his feet as the Beast skidded to a halt and turned, leaping into the air, after Sam. He swiped at Sam’s wing, fingers grazing the edge as Sam spun into a corkscrew maneuver.

“Doesn’t look very friendly,” Bucky said, under his breath, watching as Sam wobbled a bit, but stayed airborne. He took off towards Natasha and Rhodey.

“It's not his fault—“ Tony swallowed hard as the Beast came crashing back to the ground. “Isodyne, they—they implanted something.”

“Any idea how it works?”

“Never even knew it existed until today. They couldn’t have used my arc design.” He pointed down at his chest, which held a circular energy core similar to the far bulkier model Bucky had encountered him in last night. “Can’t control it on that fine a scale. Not yet, anyway. If I had to guess—based on the other tech we have—they’re probably using controlled magnetic or sonic pulses to control him. ”

“You don’t say.” Bucky peered up at the Nautilus. The cannon took a notoriously long time to charge, there was no way to know if it was ready yet. His fingers itched to pull his flare and fire it, but was it worth it: using their secret weapon on an educated guess?

“Incoming!” Natasha called, landing next to Bucky with enviable grace. She gestured over her shoulder. “I brought company.”

“Good, we could use backup,” Bucky said turning. At first he saw nothing but murky air, like a storm was building, though the sky still looked nearly cloudless near where the Nautilus was anchored.

“We’re about to need more,” Natasha said grimly.

Gleaming metal broke through the dusky grey—an automaton, followed by another and another.

“How many?” Bucky said, charging his weapon. They had more than just the Beast to worry about now.

“Two dozen, probably more. They’re fast.” Natasha glanced at Tony. “Look a lot like a smaller version of you.”

“Automatons,” Tony said, blowing out a breath. “Lightweight, their insides are full of retractable weaponry.”

“Yeah, we noticed.” Rhodey settled down next to them. “I’ve never even seen that type of weaponry.”

“You wouldn’t have. They’re all prototypes.”

“Two dozen prototypes?” Rhodey asked.

“There’s more than two dozen. But they’re not all flight ready. Isodyne activated the whole emergency defense protocol.”

“You seem to know a whole lot about their security.”

“I’m in charge of their security. Or at least, I thought I was.”

“Kinda young for that, aren’t you?” Bucky asked, looking him over. It was hard to determine his build, since everything but his face was covered in bulky metal, but his face was that of a man no more than twenty-four.

“Hold that thought,” Tony said flipping his faceplate back down as the three nearest automatons sped towards them.

Bucky, Natasha, Rhodey and Tony had formed a half circle, the Beast standing behind them, attention wholly focused—for the moment— on the attack coming from the sky.

They all aimed their weapons, Tony raised his arms, palms spread out. The circle in the center of his chest glowed and a beam of light streamed out from it, accompanied by matching beams from each hand.

Bucky fired the first shot. The beam hit the automaton directly in the right eye, and the projectile followed, slicing through the metal easily. Bucky would’ve been impressed if he’d had the time.

“They’re not as solid as your other armor,” Bucky said, staying close to Tony.

“That one wasn’t.” Tony fired all three of his rays at another, which promptly dropped out of the sky. “Or that one. But those over there—“ he redirected his hand, waited until his hands were glowing again and let loose another shot, Bucky firing in tandem. Their shots struck the third automaton in the head and chest, but didn’t leave a mark. It flew closer, increasing its speed. Sam shot up from below and delivered a hard mid-air kick, knocking the automaton off-balance. It steadied itself within seconds, and raised a hand, mimicking Tony’s movement.

“Sam!” Bucky shouted, firing another shot.

Sam dodged hard to the left, his head narrowly missing the energy beam, but his wing was left with a smoldering hole through its center. He lost height quickly, and landed, drawing his side-arms and joining the fray.

A dozen more came towards them, and Bucky lost track of the others, his whole field of vision covered in fast-moving silver. He kicked and lashed out with his metal arm, knocking two of them off, just in time to see Tony being swarmed by four others.

“Natasha!” Rhodey called out. “Now!”

Bucky caught a glimpse of Natasha firing into the air, before another automaton was on him. A blinding flash lit up the sky, followed by another.

“More on your six!” Rhodey called, as another crowd of the robots came from behind, swarming towards them. Rhodey grabbed Natasha and took off, skyward, firing at the swarm from above.

The Beast roared as he flung off three, and tore the fourth in half.

Bucky grappled with a red automaton that wouldn’t dent under his metal fist or blasts from his weapon. He caught a glimpse of Tony just as he was pulled under by another two automatons, these painted yellow. They held him down, pulled off his faceplate and started tearing at his chest armor.

An odd noise came from above, like a distant rumble of thunder. The air turned a sickly yellow then went solid white as the Nautilus fired its beam. The light was harmless to anything biological, but knocked out pretty much everything else.

The automatons all went stiff, clattering to the ground.

The Beast grabbed the last of the automatons and plucked it off Tony, easy as anything, and tossed it a good half-mile behind him.

Bucky dropped to his knees besides Tony. The damaged remnants of head armor came off easily. Tony was awfully bruised underneath, but, Bucky determined, leaning his head in close, still breathing. Still alive.

The Beast was uncharacteristically quiet, watching them intently.

“He’s alive, but he needs help.” Bucky pointed up towards the ship. “We need to get up there.”

“Fly.”

“We can’t.”

Brow furrowed, the Beast looked back down to Tony and growled, “Help him.”

“I promise, we will.”

Something akin to a smile flashed across the Beast’s mouth and he scooped up Bucky in one arm, Tony in the other, and leapt into the air, sailing up towards the ship. He tossed Bucky over the edge of the ship, grabbed hold with one big green hand, fingers denting the railing, and held Tony out, cradling his head in his hand. Bucky dropped into a roll, coming to a stop in front of Natasha and Peggy, both of whom had their weapons drawn and aimed directly at the Beast’s head.

“Hold your fire!” Bucky shouted, once he got his bearings. Natasha and Peggy lowered their weapons, Bucky held his hands out in a soothing gesture and walked back towards the Beast, who stared at him for a beat before gently lowering Tony to the floor of the Nautilus.

Natasha dropped to her knees by Tony's side and began to remove his armor.

The Beast's green eyes had softened, and his voice sounded more human, as he asked, "Stay?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, stay. You'll be safe here."

He tapped his large fingers against his temple. "Not safe."

"We get you out of range, they shouldn't be able to reach you," Bucky said, hoping he was right. "And we have somebody back at the base that should be able to help you."

"Sure that's a good plan, Barnes?" Rhodey asked, quietly.

Bucky nodded and put his hands casually over his belt. In his right holster was the sonic tranq-gun. Plan B.

Rhodey gave him a nod in response and started unstrapping his gear.

The Beast sunk to the floor, and began to shrink in on himself. Bucky watched fascinated, as the Beast's green skin undulated and faded, his mass retracting at an alarmingly fast rate until all that was left was a pale, shaking man with a shock of black hair who let out one last sigh of clear relief and then collapsed on the floor, softly snoring.

#

Tony startled awake with a gasp. Trying to get a bead on his surroundings: Clouds above him. The scraggly-haired guy with the mechanical arm that had saved his ass. Bruce, asleep. A woman with her hand on his armor."Hi. Who are you? What happened?"

"I'm Natasha." She smiled at him. "We got you and your friend out. We're headed somewhere safe."

"Safe? Where's that?"

Natasha's eyes flicked to Bucky, who said, "A hidden base. Once we lose their tail, even Isodyne won't be able to find us there."

"Whose secret base?" Tony asked. These people might have gotten him out of one mess, but he had no idea who they were or who they worked for.

"Your father's," Bucky said, hoping he sounded reassuring. “Howard Stark.”

"Howard Stark?" Tony's head hurt and he reached up to wipe his sweaty brow, realizing distantly that they'd taken off half of his body armor. "I don't know the guy. I've heard about him, mostly bad things, and I'm not—look, I have a father. Okay? And you can't just—" his voice cut off as he grew lightheaded. His chest felt tight and he suddenly couldn't get any air. His heart was thundering, faster and faster and he gasped, trying to suck in oxygen.

"Take it easy," Natasha said. "Breathe slow. You're going to hyperventilate."

"You can't just—take me—to someone I don't even know, I—" Tony's vision began to tunnel and then everything went black.

"What happened?" Bucky asked. Is he—"

Natasha sat back on her heels. “He's in shock, not concussed,” Natasha said. "No head injuries. This armor has impressive shock absorption. I think we just need to let him rest."

"That might not be doable," Sam said, swooping in for a landing from the stern. “The beam is wearing off.”

“The repulsor field only lasts about ten minutes, fifteen if you’re lucky,” Peggy called out from the wheel. “It’s been twelve.”

“How long to charge it again?”

“Five minutes, but—that’d be ill-advised.”

“Why?”

"The repulsor cannon needs a minimum of thirty minutes to cool," Peggy said. "If we start it up again now, it'll overheat, melt, and take the Nautilus down with it."

"That's a good reason not to use it again!" Sam said.

Bucky turned, surveying the horizon with his scope. He'd caught something moving out of the corner of his eye a moment ago. A silver dot. He caught it again, and focused the scope—the silver dot was growing rapidly bigger. It was a ship, easily as big as the Nautilus, if not larger, and as it grew closer he could see the cannons mounted on its front. "Well, then we better think of something else, fast."

"They're gaining on us," Rhodey said, headed for the cockpit. "Gonna see if we can kick this thing, make it go a little faster."

"She can go up to 600 knots," Peggy said, "but we'll have no defense. Can't even fire the back-up cannons at that speed."

"Then we've got a problem. I'm tracking them at 650," Rhodey said, "700, still gaining on us."

"What if we slow down?" Bucky asked, a thought bubbling up in his mind.

"You want to repeat that?" Sam said incredulously. "Because you can't have just said what I thought you said. We’re outmatched. We’re outgunned. If we don’t get out of here now we’re all toast."

"We can't outrun them. So we fall back. Change course."

"Slowing down won't be enough," Peggy said, "—but I may have a better plan." She pushed the intercom button to speak to Howard and said. "We're going to dive."

Bucky jogged to her side. "What do you mean dive?"

Peggy cocked an eyebrow. "Watch and see." She moved to the side panel section consisting of eight large wheels and twice as many levers. "Everyone, get below deck!" She called out before turning the left-most wheel.

Beneath Bucky's feet, something rumbled deep in the belly of the ship. A metal casing slid out of the floor and closed itself around the steering wheel and control panel, closing them off from the outer deck. Natasha gave Bucky a nod as she and Sam walked past, carrying Tony carefully down the stairs, below deck.

Peggy moved to the next wheel and gestured to the others. "Care to make yourself useful, Barnes?"

"Absolutely," Bucky said, moving to the wheels on the right. They spun them in unison, and the upper deck of the ship began to change—the floor elongating as arcs of metal rose from its sides and slotted into place. Bucky was so taken by the whole process that he barely noticed the ship sinking drastically lower in the air. It began to plummet in earnest and then tilt, until his belly leapt up into his throat. "Is this normal?" he asked Peggy, fighting to catch his breath.

"For the most part, yes." Peggy gave him a reassuring, if tenuous, smile.  "Howard, open the docking bay."

“Did you get him?” Howard’s voice crackled through the intercom.

“Yes, we did,” Peggy said.

“Good. That’s—thank you.” Even through the speaker, the sheer relief in Howard’s shaky voice was evident. “Get back here, the bay’ll be ready.”

“Dive sequence initiated,” Peggy said, pulling one more lever, the steering wheel retracted, its panel flipping to reveal a panel with a whole new set of controls. She pointed towards the harnesses attached to the newly formed wall across from them. "Strap in, Barnes, it's about to get bumpy."

"Wait! Doesn't somebody need to steer?" Bucky asked as he finished fastened his harness belts.

"This process runs on auto-pilot, so to speak," Howard's voice crackled. "Worked perfectly the last three times, right Peg?"

"That was twenty years ago, Howard, and your definition of perfectly still leaves a lot to be desired." Peggy released the intercom button and moved to the harness next to Bucky, strapping herself in.

Bucky swallowed and threw out a quiet prayer, thinking, _Maybe I'll see you again sooner rather than later, Steve._

The pursuing ship was above them, a hundred meters away at most. They fired off two of their front canons, but the Nautilus was nearly free-falling now, and the cannonballs missed the stern by a hair, plummeting down into the valley below.

The Nautilus shook in earnest as it dropped lower, hurtling past the edge of the land, and out over the ocean, where it sliced down into the water.

#

Tony listened quietly while Bucky finished telling him what he'd missed. Apparently, they'd dropped completely off of Isodyne's radar, at least for the moment. They were sitting at a table, in the belly of a submarine, headed towards a secret base of some sort, where Tony's supposed father was waiting to meet them.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Bucky said finally, handing Tony a cup of water.

"It's been twenty years," Tony said. "Twenty years designing and building anything I wanted. Or...what I thought I wanted." He drank the water, slowly at first and then gulped down the rest, bruised ribs aching with each swallow.

"You didn't know what they were doing with your tech. It's not your fault."

"Of course it's not my fault. Why would it be my fault?" Tony snapped, but his hands were compulsively rubbing his temples. "Besides, I _did_ know. Some of it, anyway. I just didn't—understand."

Bucky nodded. "They used you. Exploited your skills. I know what that's like."

"Oh yeah? You build things for shadowy organizations that turn out to be evil too?"

"No," Bucky shook his head. "I didn’t build things; I was the other end. They used me to...dismantle. To kill."

"Like Bruce," Tony said knowingly. "So how'd _you_ get away?"

"Peggy and Howard came for me. They didn't just get me out, they gave me my mind back." He caught Tony's gaze. “Your father’s a good man. He’s brilliant. Obsessive and arrogant, but he’s got a good heart. I’ve known him for….” Bucky thought for a moment. “Fifty years give or take.”

Tony looked at him quizzically. “You’re not _that_ much older than me. You immortal or something?”

Bucky snorted a laugh. “No. I uh... took several involuntary extended naps.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah." Bucky cracked a wry smile. "We've all got some...interesting backstories around here."

There was a deafening noise as the Nautilus's proximity alarm blared to life.

"Oh good, we're here," Bucky said, pushing up.

Tony stood up, too, considered bolting. There had to be somewhere in this sardine can he could hide. "Look, I can't do this. I've missed—twenty birthdays, twenty Father's Days, I'm wearing...this." Tony gestured down at the jumpsuit Bucky had given him. It was grey and bulky and didn't fit right and it had grease stains. "No tie, nothing. I don't even have a bottle of Scotch."

Bucky patted him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Trust me."

Tony startled and turned as the door to the ship’s kitchen opened with a hiss of hydraulics. A man stepped through. He was older, with graying hair, a thinning mustache and deep crinkles around his eyes—from smiling or frowning, or both, Tony didn't know. But the look he was giving him was painfully familiar. It tickled something in the back of Tony’s mind, something he’d forgotten a long, long time ago: He was small, crawling down a polished wooden hallway, as fast as his little arms and legs could take him. Strong hands lifted him up and sat him on a workbench filled with gleaming metal. _“Someday this will all be yours, Tony.”_

"Tony," the man said thickly, looking at Tony with red-rimmed eyes. “My boy.”

Tony swallowed, took a step forward and said, "Hi."

 

###


End file.
